Level Three
by PhaerynTao
Summary: Dark Ace has secured Cyclonia's triumph, but fails to obtain his own.


a/n: I've been extraordinarily depressed, and slightly sadistic, and I'm sure it really shows in this one. In many senses I do not like this story; it is violent, it is mind bogglingly cruel...just bleh. An idea like this has been floating around my head for a while now, but dear lord I didn't expect it to be like this. It may or may not be as good as my other stories, and my opinion it's not, but hey...it was a GREAT stress reliever, let me tell you.

I gave this story quite a high rating, because although I do not believe it's Mature, it surely isn't Teen. Mild...err, sensuality involving two males, so if that isn't your thing please exit the building. I wont have my review page filled with garbage about how sick I am when a warning was clearly designated.

I do not own Storm Hawks.

* * *

"You want him, Dark Ace?" 

His master asked him the question, hinting that a true and devoted deviant resided under that cool exterior.

"Pardon, Master?"

"I asked if you wanted him. His team is dead, and thanks to you the road is paved for Cyclonia's prosperity."

The Dark Ace stared at this regal stature of pure danger, crimson eyes trying not to exhibit the confusion and curiosity that were beginning to leak from his gaze. Cyclonis shrugged.

"If you don't want him, I'll just order the boy to be thrown into the incinerator. No sense in keeping him around if he's not put to good use."

"You've given me everything I could have wished for, Master Cyclonis. Why in the world would you shower me with more?"

A throne. Royal quarters. Government over the whole west division of the terra, which used to be completely commanded by the young adult he knew as his ruler. Regarded with nearly the same reverence as his master. There was no doubt that Dark Ace secretly approved of these upgrades, but he was not and could never consider himself a noble.

"Don't be so modest." Cyclonis nearly snapped. "You deserve every bit of it."

"Where is he?" He asked.

"He's in a dungeon three floors below us, the deepest one we have."

Dark Ace could not speak. His rival, the face he saw each time the familiar boiling fury rampaged through his veins, was down below him rotting in a damp cell where not even the smallest amount of light penetrated. The realization should have given him a rush of malicious gratification to know that the cursed boy had finally lost.

But doubt laced the man's troubled mind as he was reminded of how he couldn't kill him.

When his fist landed on the Sky Knight's spinal column and temporarily disabling him, he could not bring his glowing blade down through his torso. Instead, he used it to slaughter the others, not feeling an ounce of anything as their blood flecked his pale mature face. The sun rose, a diabolical scene decorating the return of Dark Ace as he dragged the unconscious and beaten leader of the Storm Hawks by the arm.

"Fine."

"What was that, Dark Ace?"

"Fine. I'll have him."

Cyclonis' violet eyes glinted with barely contained provocation. Dark Ace would remember that look, and conclude that she knew the exact path that this situation would journey down.

"Brilliant. Then Aerrow is yours."

_Aerrow is yours._

Like purchasing an animal.

Followed closely by two talons, a day later he made his way down into the darkest regions of their dungeons. He had been down there before, but he seldom made it a frequent habit to go. To be honest, he disliked it down there. It was completely dark except for several torches lighting the way down the coldly humid corridor. Occasionally he would feel drips of a substance that he didn't really want to identify fall and land in his obsidian hair.

Although he would probably despise being down here for long periods of time, he had to admit that this was the perfect place to make a prisoner go mad. The third level dungeons weren't entirely infamous per se, but they were known for sucking the life out of detainees quickly and unkindly.

There was nothing more intriguing than seeing someone deteriorate from a little lack of light.

Finally they arrived to the last cell on level three. Dark Ace stared at Aerrow's door before ordering the talons to unlock it for him. When his master's palace was first built, the doors of all of the cells were gleaming silver, brand knew off the anvil. Now they had tarnished, a sad joke of what they once were.

Just like Aerrow.

The boy sat in the corner, his knees drawn up to his chest and his head resting in his arms.

"Leave us." Dark Ace said to the talons without averting his gaze away from the Sky Knight, and they left at once.

When they closed the door, it was incredibly dark. Dark Ace drew his red energy blade and used it to light the untouched torch that was unstably attached to the dungeon wall. The shadows danced eerily on the two of them, Aerrow still not looking at him or looking alive for that matter, and Dark Ace still standing, gazing at him and all of his loss. He looked like a broken toy, discarded by a selfish child. His uniform torn beyond all repair, Aerrow sat below him with little clothing covering his suddenly frail appearance.

Bruises and cuts close to festering littered his fair skin. Some talons were responsible for that, having their fun with him before they chucked him into his cell. Dark Ace wanted to proudly take the credit for wounding his spirit as he made the boy watch his friends get gutted and cast aside next to him, making his paralyzed body look into the glassy dead eyes of his teammates.

He still would not look up.

"Aerrow." Dark Ace spoke, his voice offering little to no integrity to the Sky Knight.

He did not respond.

In a flash Dark Ace knelt and brought his rough calloused fingers underneath Aerrow's chin and lifted it up, only to see an expression that almost made him smile. Dried tear rivulets coated the boy's face, a definite sign that he had wept recently. But there was no sadness in this. Raw anger poured out of every facial muscle, his green eyes once so determined and potentially kind now scathingly hateful.

Dark Ace wondered if this was why he didn't do away with him. If maybe, amongst all the gifts he had received for taking down the Sky Knights and lastly the Storm Hawks, this was the most rewarding. To beat his most talented adversary, and then to watch him wither away like an exorcised wraith.

Finally, he could relate to the little bastard. What Aerrow had been feeling now was what Dark Ace felt every single second of every day. He was a vengeful man, good at following orders but never one to pass up an opportunity to seek some self indulgence, even in the most vile of tasks.

Aerrow wrenched his chin out of his grasp, but continued to look at him with the heat of a rioting fire.

Dark Ace did not smile, but anyone would have been able to see the wickedness in his ruby eyes. He wanted to take everything from this boy. He had believed that taking his team from him would have been enough, but he wanted to take away something that was all Aerrow had now; and that was hatred. His hatred for him, Dark Ace.

"Aerrow, how long have we known each other? Two years?"

"Long enough to know that I want you dead, Dark Ace."

"Naturally." He replied, giving a grim chuckle.

Again, he reached over and gripped the boy's face tightly as he squirmed. His skin was damp and clammy to the touch, becoming paler the longer he fell out of contact with the sun. Before he was such a prime specimen by everyone else's standards, and from the amount of confidence and sureness that he displayed, Dark Ace was disgusted by him.

But now…

Snatched out of his environment and into the enemy's, he's exuded such vulnerability that it made him as helplessly striking as a monarch butterfly missing its wing.

It was such an alluring look for a self assured little shit.

His fingers ran themselves along the boy's strong prominent jaw line, and although ginger, it was still a mere ghost of a gentle touch.

"Have no fear, Aerrow. I'm sure you'll grow to like it here."

And he left, putting out the torch before adjourning and slamming the door behind him, leaving the cell nearly pitch black again.

He couldn't help laughing out loud as he heard the chamber's recipient let out an insane yell of frustration. Sometimes Dark Ace would nearly make himself sick with happiness at how twisted he could be.

Every other day he ordered the talons to drag the boy out of his cell, beat him nearly everywhere except for his face which they were told not to touch, and bring him to his quarters. Dark Ace would be waiting, the huge doors to his residence billowing like the entrance to a brand new turret. The talons would leave Aerrow, beaten and sputtering on the floors of his enemy's luxurious but raggedly personal accommodations. Dark Ace took a rope and tied it tightly around the boy's thinning wrists, and began to clean his wounds. His eyes tightly closed, Aerrow would hiss and shudder as the rubbing alcohol slipped into the once neglected injuries.

The next time Aerrow was brought, once again battered, Dark Ace forced him into a large bathtub to cleanse him of the dirt, blood, and bacteria that had collected across the surface of his skin. This would have been quite welcomed if he wasn't completely and utterly exposed to the red eyed talon. For this he couldn't have ropes around his wrists, but Dark Ace was well prepared to overpower the malnourished teen if need be. Over the course of an hour Aerrow scrubbed himself raw and washed his hair while Dark Ace situated his back against the wall. Insults and leers of every kind had been directed at him and most of them involved one form or another of Dark Ace being a closet homosexual and a pedophile.

The talon would merely smirk softly at the youth and shrug. In his goal to strip Aerrow of everything, to be cryptic was his ally. Soon the boy would jump at the chance to see him, even crave it. With the ordered beatings from the guards artfully opposed with the rather bloodless treatment from Dark Ace, Aerrow would soon forget that they were enemies, and make the distinction that was planned; guards were bad, Dark Ace was good. Dark Ace didn't hurt him, Dark Ace fed him, Dark Ace let him bathe, let him wear proper clothes, took care of him.

It was hideous.

It was grotesque and squalid.

An abuse of epic proportions.

This went on for several weeks, until time began to weave into months. The beatings were fairly far apart, giving Aerrow time to recuperate before they would nearly break him to pieces again. Whenever he wasn't getting his thin stomach kicked in or being specially treated by Dark Ace, he was left alone in the dank dripping dungeons on the lightless third level.

He would crack, oh how he would crack. And when he did…

Goodness, Dark Ace licked his lips in anticipation whenever he thought about it.

One night as his satin covers hugged his body, he opened his eyes abruptly as if literally shaken awake. He listened carefully, heard nothing, and tried his hardest to go back to sleep.

He couldn't.

He could hear the boy's blood curdling screams as the guards thrashed him while he slept, and he wasn't sure if he was disturbed or pleased. After hours of trying in vain to sleep again, he rose. It would be a few more hours before the break of dawn, and he spent those hours staring at the smoky polluted horizon until the sun came up.

At last he was rescued from boredom, and he heard the familiar knocking on his large towering door. When he opened them, he was greeted with the sight of Aerrow's arms slung uncomfortably over the shoulders of the two talons who had brought him. Dark Ace could only stare blankly at their handiwork. The left side of Aerrow's face was covered in blood, his eye swollen shut.

He told them _not _to touch his face.

"Give him here." Dark Ace said in the lowest voice.

The talons obliged quickly. As sinister as their leader could be, it was rare that he ever used _that _tone. Aerrow had been in worse shape before, but would never allow himself to be willingly supported. Now, the boy fell without grace into the man's arms out of what looked like complete exhaustion. It must have been a strange sight, to see him holding the prisoner in what would appear to be an embrace. Dark Ace didn't give a damn what he looked like at the moment. They were _not _supposed to touch his face.

"I gave you strict orders…" He said to the minions slowly. "…Not to harm his face."

Behind their red goggles, they blinked in fear.

"And what do I find...that it has been _mangled_"!

His voice echoed, bouncing off the high ceiling trying to escape the wrath of its host.

"I should kill you where you stand. Stay here for but a few more seconds, and I shall."

They ran for their fucking lives.

Now he was left alone with the boy who was bleeding all over his chest. Not wanting to drag him, he swiftly picked him up bridal style and carried him to the washroom. What had been heavy muscle filling Aerrow's body a few months earlier was nothing but bones, and he weighed about as much as a child. He turned on the faucet to the bathtub, and let it fill up. Aerrow groaned, futilely bringing his hand up to the battered side of his face. Dark Ace could hardly imagine how much it hurt. The tub was filled, and without shame or modesty Dark Ace ripped off the boy's clothes and submerged him, careful to keep his head above the water. Immediately the water began to have swirls of red hue mixing with its molecules. Dark Ace reached for a soft washcloth and delicately smeared the blood off of Aerrow's face.

"What're you doin'…" Aerrow mumbled, his dry lips barely moving.

"Nothing."

The boy wasn't coherent enough to deal with his cryptic demeanor, so Dark Ace didn't engage. Grabbing a washcloth he wetted it, and began to gently wash the blood off of his skin. When the red liquid was gone, it wasn't as gory. Aerrow's eye was still swollen, but with the blood washed away, the gash in his face was easier to see and less traumatic looking. Dark Ace knew that there were more capillaries in the head, so it explained why the boy had leaked all over himself.

Damn those assholes. _Damn _them.

The man's malicious front had subsided, if only for a little bit. Even on a regular basis whenever he treated Aerrow during his time in Cyclonia, Dark Ace never let slip the underlying possibility of causing harm. He usually enjoyed the power he held over Aerrow, used it to his advantage by simply keeping quiet and wearing a suggestive smirk to keep the kid guessing.

When his job was done, he placed a large towel next to Aerrow.

"When you have finished, dry yourself."

And he left, leaving Aerrow to do whatever he pleased. At that moment he could've drowned himself in the soapy bath water, and Dark Ace wouldn't have blinked at the results.

He went and sat at the foot of his large king sized bed, lacing his fingers and resting his jaw on them. He wanted to destroy that boy. Finally let him writhe underneath him as he took away what little poise he still carried. It still astounded him how much filth he had pumping through his veins. This was one of those moments that had his head spinning, even if on the outside he seemed completely collected. Even though he knew the answer, he often wondered what prompted him to be who he was; the cool uncaring demon of the skies, fighting ruthlessly and not having an ounce of honor in his body.

He went ahead and blamed it on his very nature.

The easy way out, how characteristically slick.

A loud thump on the floor came from the bathroom, and at once Dark Ace went over and opened it, only to find that Aerrow had hoisted himself out of the tub to wrap the towel around his waist and fell down from the lack of muscular support in his legs. He had become such a skinny frail thing, Dark Ace observed, and despite the quiet cries of the Sky Knight, he picked him off of the cold stone tile floor and carried him into his room and laid him down on the spot where he had been sitting previously.

Aerrow apparently couldn't help himself, and fell to his side to take full advantage of being on something soft after sleeping on pure rock for so long.

Dark Ace narrowed his eyes, but said nothing. The urge to be utterly cruel to him was starting to drift away, and he did not appreciate that. He liked the vindictiveness to soak through his skin like hot oil. But now he feared that he was starting to grow soft. Soft for this grossly slender phantom of a very heroic teenager.

He partly hated him being there. But he couldn't send him away.

He heard him weeping.

Aerrow was _weeping _in front of him.

Was this the human frame once it has been completely wiped clean of hope or aspiration?

"Sit up." Dark Ace said curtly.

Unsurprisingly he did not comply. So he grabbed him under his arms and pulled him up so that they were face to face, once again shocked at how light he was.

"Don't you dare defy me, not after all that I've-"

In an instant his lips were covered by a pair of dry cracked ones. It was quick and tentative, and Aerrow pulled back as soon possible, his tear filled leafy eyes darting everywhere but him as if he realized what he had done.

Electricity. Pure jolting electricity. But not even that much of a shock could force the man of stony composure to reel back. The boy had kissed him. Their lips had touched. Crass. So _fucking _crass. He had just surrendered himself up to the talon, admitted his defeat. Splitting himself open and letting him lap up all the candy and honey inside.

His mission to break him, to skin him, had succeeded.

And what else could he do but milk it for all it was worth.

Dark Ace's hand came up from underneath Aerrow's arm, released a death grip upon some thick clumps of his auburn hair and kissed him again, not caring that the boy's lips were callous and uncared for. They broke apart and he gently pushed Aerrow down onto the bed and followed, careful not to crush him. There was contradiction in his actions. He was mindful not to hurt the boy, but there was somehow little mercy. He raked his teeth across Aerrow's neck, his hands gripping and bruising his thin spongy skin. Somehow he wished that this was more like the duels they used to have with their blades, but Aerrow had completely given up the warrior's spirit.

Dark Ace had achieved in breaking him.

Even with a swollen eye Aerrow looked impeccable, desirable. The kind of trophy that was meant to be shattered in a million pieces. Eventually Dark Ace stripped and no more layers would come between them, except for the blanket of downfall that one of them surely suffered. Almost like a pair of animals, they moved against each other without penetration, friction of painful but gratifying heights spreading through their nether regions. Contrary to common belief, Dark Ace was not a promiscuous man. But he took secret pride in thinking that 'bisexual' wasn't' even a broad enough term for him.

Dilated feral pupils, sneers in harsh concentration, eyebrows both knitted in focus and in orgasmic agony.

Having such a feeble body against his made Dark Ace even more aware that he was indeed having such intimate affairs with a child. However as his body climbed higher and higher on that jagged but pleasurable mountain, he couldn't care less and he was sure Aerrow couldn't either as they both vocally grimaced in carnal pleasure. Dripping in sweat and looking down at the boy who was sharing the same post coital bliss as he was, Dark Ace was dead and alive at the same time. His blood was pumping, searing heat lit fire to his skin, and he seemed to stare intently at his prey. But inside his mind, there was a cold wind blowing, automatically picking up on something soon to come that would certainly splinter this victory.

The boy was a delicious prize, that much was true. But the glow ended very quickly.

He rolled off of Aerrow, but could not find it in him to rest. So he tried to rise instead, only to feel a firm but breakable grip attach itself on his arm.

"Don't leave."

_Don't look at him, don't look at him._

Dark Ace defied his brain's frantic request, and looked upon Aerrow's face. What he saw was not hatred, it was not loathing. It was not of disgust, not even anything resembling dislike. Those green eyes shimmered, finding something else to live for in the organizer for his divine mistreatment.

He had stripped Aerrow's hatred for him, something that was all he had. Now…the boy wanted him. And _that _in itself was something for him to hold onto. He should have _nothing _to hold onto.

Ever since he met that boy, he stopped winning. And he reviled it.

Dark Ace yanked his arm out of Aerrow's grasp and got out of bed. After he dressed quickly, he ordered the boy to be taken away, and he was careful to seem entirely emotionless as the boy cast him one last glance, a silent plea to take care of him.

It was a wild ride, he had to admit. The torture, the sound of the boy's beatings, the sleepless nights devising what way to nurture him and coax more of his soul into his grasp. But now it was over. The boy had surrendered, and now he was nothing more than a thin lifeless prisoner, taking up space in the third level. No one could have expected him to keep him around forever. And to have the boy attached to him in such an advanced state of obvious psychosis was proof enough that in succeeding, Dark Ace had failed as well.

"So, Dark Ace." Cyclonis said when he came into her throne room one day.

"Was Aerrow's services to your liking?"

Yes, they were.

They were amazing, they were worth it, they gave him the sense of dominance that he forever thirsted for.

They made him insane.

"I suppose, master." Dark Ace said, his voice monotonous.

"I'm not convinced." She told him. "If you have no use for him any longer, what do you propose we do with him?"

Dark Ace opened and closed his eyes slowly, turned around and began to make his way out of the room.

"Do not walk away so quickly." She pressed. "Answer me."

The bloody eyed man shrugged.

"Throw him into the incinerator."


End file.
